


Hungry Like The Wolf

by harmlessfantasy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Creeper Peter, First Time, It's All Peter's Fault, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, POV Peter Hale, POV Stiles, Peter cooks, Snarky Peter, Stiles Is Adorably Flustered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 01:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3339425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harmlessfantasy/pseuds/harmlessfantasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 3x02. Peter proves that he does in fact have an apartment downtown, and Stiles is surprised on more than one level!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hungry Like The Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fille_dombre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fille_dombre/gifts).



> This bunny wouldn't stop hopping. I partly blame fille_dombre for making me think about how Peter could *not* be crazy, but still be the creeper we all know and love. This was the result, I really hope you like it, bb! =)

Stiles pulls the Jeep to a stop outside the apartment building and frowns, beginning to wonder if coming here was a good idea after all. Peter hadn't been the most trustworthy of people in the past, but he seemed to have been making a real effort lately. Granted Stiles was a little biased but he’d decided to give him a second (third? forth?) chance though - within reason of course, Peter was still Peter and he should proceed with due caution.  
  
The teen fishes his phone out of his pocket and re-reads the text conversation for what felt like the fiftieth time that day.  
  
 _From: Peter  
Apt. 19, 437 East Beacon St._  
  
 _To: Peter  
Who or what's there? Should I call Scott?_  
  
 _From: Peter  
No Scott. Maybe you're not as curious about 'wolf dens' as you made out... :(_  
  
 _To: Peter  
Seriously, that's where you live? I'm always curious! :)_  
  
 _From: Peter  
It's settled then. 7pm, don't be late! _  
  
On the face of it, it was just a simple invitation but that nagging voice in the back of Stiles’ mind was whispering to him “This is Peter Hale, when has anything with him ever been simple?”.  
  
Drumming his fingers on his bouncing knees he started running scenarios through his head. Peter could be totally messing with him. He could've given out a random address to see if Stiles' curiosity really did get the better of him, only to have everyone laugh at him at the next pack meeting. Peter hadn't actually _confirmed_ it was where he lived, but as evil as he'd been in the past the older Hale hadn't acted like a dumb jock, so Stiles discounted that pretty quickly under the terms of his 'Give Peter a chance', agreement. Maybe this _was_ Peter's apartment and...oh God, maybe Peter had figured out that Stiles was possibly, maybe, _totally_ crushing on him and was going to kill him, which would explain why he didn’t want Scott involved - no Scott, no witness!  
  
"Shit!" he curses, banging his head on the steering wheel, "shit, shit, shiiit!"  
  
The phone chirrups in his hand and he jumps, losing grip on it three times before he manages to right himself and see the display.  
  
 _From: Scott  
Dude, where are you? I brought pizza. If you're not here in 20 I'm picking all the pepperoni off yours!_  
  
He weighs up his options - he could start the car, go home and if Peter asked what happened he could play it cool and say he forgot. Yeah, he could do that but the nagging voice was back, “Do you really want to pass up the chance of maybe seeing Peter "sex on legs" Hale's man cave?” it taunted him. Ever since Peter had told him he had an apartment downtown, Stiles had been wondering what it would be like, how it would be furnished...would it be furnished? What did werewolves like in the way of home comforts? He only had Derek’s loft to go off and he wasn't even sure that the man had anything other than a couple of tables, a sofa and a bed. All in all, there really only was one way to find out if that was a werewolf thing or a Derek thing.  
  
His phone howls, making him jump _again_. He almost wishes he hadn’t given everyone their own ring tone, but it amused him no end to have something wolf related for...well, for a wolf!  
  
 _From: Peter  
It's 6.54pm, please remember that I said don’t be late!_  
  
Stiles rolls his eyes before he taps out replies to both messages.  
  
 _To: Scott  
Sorry man, got an errand to run. Shouldn’t take too long, will text when I’m on my way back._  
  
 _To: Peter  
Thank you for the time check but I do actually own a watch. I’m parking now._  
  
Only a few seconds pass before a reply.  
  
 _From: Peter  
No, you’re sat out on the street, texting. Get your ass up here. Door code is 3794._  
  
Stiles’ heart kicks up a beat, he hadn’t considered the fact that Peter might be able to see him.  
  
 _To: Peter  
Are you *watching* me? Do you have any idea how creepy that is? o.0_  
  
 _From: Peter  
As you keep pointing out, being creepy and watching people runs in the family! :/ _  
  
Stiles starts the engine and pulls into the parking lot. He soon finds a space in the visitor’s section and briefly thinks about the fact that he doesn’t even know what kind of car Peter drives. Every day he learns that in reality, despite all the time they’ve been around each other, Stiles knows next to nothing about the man. That partly worries him, but also thrills him a little because it means he may just have a chance to find out.  
  
He takes the stairs three at a time - now he’s in the building he _needs_ to see Peter’s apartment. He hovers outside the door for a moment, suddenly nervous. He reaches out and slowly turns the door knob, half expecting it not to move...Peter said the door was open and it was, meaning it was almost certainly actually was his apartment. He pushes it open gently and peers inside. His eyes skim the rooms until they land on the familiar figure, Stiles finally breathes a sigh of relief that his thoughts of Peter tricking him were unfounded. He steps into the apartment, shutting the door behind him and heads through the compact living room to the kitchen.  
  
“Uh, hi,” he says absently, too busy taking in the sights and smells assaulting his senses to come up with anything else. Peter looks up from where he’s tossing salad in a large bowl. He’s wearing a soft looking navy blue t-shirt - v neck, _obviously_ \- and has a dish towel casually slung over his shoulder. His hair’s perfectly groomed as usual, but a rogue section has fallen down onto Peter’s forehead and stuck slightly to the sheen of light sweat there from the heat. He looks...relaxed, and it throws Stiles off a little. Steam rises from pots on the stove and a fresh wave of heat fills the room as Peter opens the oven door and pulls out two trays. He turns back to Stiles and looks a little puzzled.  
  
“Stiles?,” he asks, sliding garlic bread onto a plate, “are you OK?”  
  
Stiles blinks. Whatever he expected to see, this wasn’t it. “Uhh…”  
  
Peter wipes his hands on the towel and walks around the counter to stand in front of Stiles. “You haven’t eaten already, have you?”  
  
Through his stunned brain Stiles vaguely registers what he thinks might be disappointment on Peter’s handsome face, “No, no I haven’t,” he stammers, “I was gonna grab some pizza with Scott when I left here.”  
  
Peter’s expression changes and the familiar self-satisfied look is back, “Forget Scott and forget pizza,” he tips his head to the right, “bathroom’s through there, wash up while I finish off the sauce.”  
  
Stiles nods dumbly, his feet carrying him into the bathroom of their own accord. He washes his hands then splashes cold water on his face. In the mirror he sees that he looks as shocked as he feels. Not only has Peter invited him into his home, he’s cooked dinner. Peter Hale has cooked him dinner, what the fuck?  
  


  
* * * * *

  
Peter smiles to himself as he drains the pasta, sitting the colander on top of the pot to keep warm. He rips up a handful of fresh basil leaves and stirs them into the sauce, then he’s grating Parmesan as Stiles comes back into the room. He nods to two plates covered with tin foil, “Set those on the table then open the wine, please,” as he pours the pasta and sauce into a large bowl before setting that down. Finally he picks up the garlic bread and Parmesan, carries them to the table, putting them all within reaching distance.  
  
Stiles is still standing, nervously looking at the table and gripping the wine bottle so tightly his knuckles are white. Peter laughs, “Stiles, you look terrified. I’m not going to eat _you_ , not when I’ve slaved over all _this_. Sit down for Gods sake!”  
  
Peter watches as the teen sits, then follow suit, “So,” he pulls the foil off the plates and balls it up, “for appetisers we have Parma ham wrapped buffalo mozzarella on rosemary skewers, with a warm balsamic vinegar, olive oil and lemon dressing. To follow we have linguine with chicken and roasted cherry tomato, chilli and basil sauce. And garlic bread, of course.”  
  
He pours them both a glass of wine while he waits for Stiles to say something. It’s a little unnerving, the boy is hardly ever quiet, let alone seemingly at a loss for words. Peter can hear Stiles’ heart beating faster but he’s not worried - the plan to surprise the youngster was clearly working, though he hadn’t expected such a drastic reaction.  
  
Stiles text alert startles them both and the teen seems to come to, then. He looks at the text, then to Peter.  
  
“It’s poor table manners to eat and text,” Peter says, pushing a plate towards the teen with one hand and pulls the phone from his grip with the other, “ _eat_!” he says absently while he opens the message.  
  
 _From: Scott  
5 more minutes and your pepperoni is history, buddy! _  
  
“Where does he think you are?”  
  
Stiles has taken a bite of his food and Peter’s distracted by the slick mess of oil and cheese on the boy’s lips. He feels heat bloom in his chest as he watches Stiles’ tongue come out to lick it away, pink tongue there and gone in a flash. He swallows too quickly and chokes a little, gulping down a mouthful of wine to help the food on its way down. “An errand,” Stiles says, voice just a touch croaky, but enough to send a thrill through Peter’s body, “I said I’d text on my way back.”  
  
Peter nods, “Carry on, don’t let it go cold,” he says while he quickly types a reply.  
  
 _To: Scott  
It’s all yours. This could take longer than planned, don’t wait up!_  
  
He hands the phone back to Stiles with a smirk, then starts to eat his own food.  
  


* * * * *

  
Stiles takes his phone back and glares at the older man. He thumbs through the texts and is relieved to see the reply is...surprisingly casual. He half expected something cryptic that could sound perfectly plausible, but in Peter speak could mean his violent death was imminent.  
  
"Something wrong?" Peter asks, and Stiles recognises the amusement in his piercing blue eyes.  
  
The teen rubs his forehead, there’s so much weird shit going through his head, it’s starting to hurt. He promised his dad that he'd think before speaking, so he chooses his words as carefully as possible, "Actually, yes. This," he gestures to the table and the room at large, "this whole thing doesn't make sense. What's going on here?" he asks. He picks up his napkin and starts twisting it to give him something to do with his hands other than flail. He’s aware he does that, but flailing is his _thing_ , he _likes_ flailing, OK?  
  
He watches nervously as Peter sets his knife and fork down calmly, a look on his face that Stiles wasn't familiar with...it could mean anything from 'Shut up, Stiles' to 'You have a three second head start so run, before I rip you to shreds'. Peter’s quiet for what seems like an eternity before he reaches across the table and gently covers Stiles' hands with his own to still them. Stiles freezes, unsure of what to say or do. Peter lets go immediately and picks up his glass, taking a sip of wine before speaking.  
  
"Stiles, you're an intelligent young man, I trust you'd recognise when you've been invited to share a meal with a friend," he holds up his hand to stop Stiles interrupting him, "and I don't mean pizza with Scott or sitting at the same table as Lydia at the school cafeteria." There’s a pause and Stiles wants to speak, he wants to ask when Peter considered them to be friends, but it’s clear the man hasn't finished speaking. "I know things can't have been easy for you since your mom died. You're always doing your best to look out for your dad, and he works so much, I figured you don't often get to sit down to a meal that someone else made for you."  
  
Stiles stares at Peter, not actually sure what to say, and what comes out is, "Birthdays. Dad always takes me out for birthdays...and then there's Melissa, she cooks..."  
  
Peter smiles slightly and shakes his head, "That's not what I meant."  
  
Stiles is getting even more confused now, "What the hell, man? Is this some werewolf thing, you saying something in plain English and yet it means something different in wolf speak?"  
  
Peter sighs, "OK, let's start again, "before the...before the fire, we had a huge kitchen and the whole family would all pitch in. I enjoyed it," he shrugs and takes another sip of wine, "I like to cook, you asked about where I live, so..." he shrugs as that explains the whole thing.  
  
"But why me?" Stiles asks quietly. To his surprise, Peter laughs, fondly.  
  
He looks Stiles straight in the eye, "I've told you before, Stiles, _I like you_. Is it such alien concept to you that I might want to do something I enjoy, and to share with someone who spends more time looking out for other people than himself? I've done some terrible things, Stiles, sometimes I do nice things, too. I can't change my past actions, but I can try and be better now,” he pushes his chair back a few inches from the table, “I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable, Stiles. You're free to leave at any time," he smiles softly, his eyes crinkling, "but I'd really like it if you stay.”  
  
Stiles feels like a douche. Peter _had_ been making an effort lately, and although Stiles couldn't completely lose that feeling that this was Peter and he rarely did anything which didn't benefit him in some way, he’s touched that Peter has obviously gone to a lot of effort.  
Stiles mentally shakes himself, “Well I _am_ starving, and you still have to give me the grand tour!” he grins.  
  
“Well then, don’t let it go cold,” Peter says with a matching grin as they both start to devour their meal.  
  


* * * * *

  
Watching Stiles eat is torture. Peter pours himself another glass of wine and forces himself to sip it. He grips the underside of the table with his other hand to stop him from palming his dick to relieve the ache where it’s throbbing and trapped inside his jeans. It’s either that or he’ll vault over the table and pin Stiles to the floor and take him there and then. The noises the teen’s making as he eats the - admittedly delicious - meal are obscene. Moans of contentment and the slick sounds of long fingers being sucked clean are driving Peter crazy. More than once he wonders if Stiles is doing on purpose, but truthfully he doesn’t think Stiles has it in him to be intentionally seductive and teasing...not yet, at least. In a few years when he’s more comfortable in his own skin Stiles will be able get anyone he wants with a flash of that smile, those doe eyes and long legs. Peter is drawn from his daydream by Stiles’ voice.  
  
“Hey, hellooo, anyone in there?” he’s clicking his fingers as well, indicating he’s been trying to get Peter’s attention for some time.  
  
“Uh, what?”  
  
Stiles holds up his glass, nodding towards the almost empty wine bottle.  
  
Peter shakes his head, “Absolutely not, you’re driving. I’m already skirting the edge of legality and morality by letting you have one in the first place.”  
  
Stiles shrugs, “Yeah, OK,” he sucks the last few drops out of the glass and smacks his now even more cherry red lips. His cheeks are flushed, no doubt as a result of the wine and the gentle heat of the chilli in the pasta sauce, “though I gotta say, you’re not really renowned for walking the moral path. After all, here you are,” he gestures towards Peter, eyes lingering on his broad chest, “a man of … unconfirmed age, but certainly _significantly_ older than me, alone in his apartment, drinking wine with a guy who is not only the Sheriff’s son, but is a minor. You could do anything you want with me while I’m here and no-one would know.” as soon as he realises what he’s said, Stiles’ mouth drops open and his cheeks flame. “Not that I’m suggesting that...I didn’t mean…” he drops his head to the table, continuing his babbling, “shutting up now, I didn’t say anything,OK...just forget I said anything,” he raises his head, eyes wide and pleading, “please don’t kill me.”  
  
Stiles’ words register in Peter’s brain and he feels a growl vibrate through his chest of its own accord. Half of it is due to lust, he could admit to himself that having Stiles there in a position of vulnerability, entirely at his mercy is giving Peter a huge thrill. He chalks that up to his Alpha personality, as well as the fact that he’s always had a liking for tall, dark haired, snarky and good looking teenage boys. The other half is anger that even now, Stiles is still under the impression that Peter will kill him. He _can_ , in theory, he’s killed many times but he’s never killed anyone he has feelings for, before. Laura was an entirely different matter, he was out of his mind then and he had to live with the pain of what he did every day.  
  
Stiles obviously hears the growl and moves his chair back a couple of inches. Peter takes a deep breath and pushes his wolf down as he looks at the teen. “Stiles,” he snaps,” would you get over thinking I’m going to kill you at any given moment?” He makes himself calm down a little and looks into the boy’s eyes, “you’re far too valuable to the pack for me to kill you, and besides, I already told you I like you, and you can deny it all you want but I know you like me, too.”  
  
That gets a response pretty quickly. Stiles flushes even more if it’ possible, gulps audibly and his heart rate skyrockets, “What...what do you mean?” he asks, his voice a couple of octaves higher than usual, “I mean I like you I suppose, in the sense that you’re not the psycho killer you used to be, but I mean, I don’t _like you_ , like you, if that’s what you’re thinking. That’s not to say that you’re not an incredibly good looking guy, you are, which obviously you know but I don’t think we’re at that stage in our relationship for…” Stiles continues to babble, even as he watches Peter stand and approach him.  
  
Peter reaches down and puts his hand around Stiles’ wrist, gripping tighter as he urges the teen to stand until they’re looking into each other’s eyes, “After all this time, you still don’t get that I can tell when you’re lying, do you?” he asks softly, eyes sparkling with lust and mischief, “ you see,” he says, hearing the unnerving calmness in his own voice and the thumping in Stiles’ chest, “just like when I offered you the bite, I heard your heart beating slightly faster over the words ‘I don’t _like you_ , like you’”. Stiles attempts to pull his wrist away but Peter holds on tighter. He raises his other hand and slowly traces Stiles lower lip with his thumb. He hums his approval at its softness. He moves closer to the teen so that their chests are almost touching and leans forward, his nose millimetres from Stiles’ cheek, then down to his neck and throat. He hears and feels the boy gasp as Peter inhales deeply, taking in Stiles’ scent. “Mmmm,” he pulls back to look into big brown eyes again, “you smell so good. A hint of fear with lots and lots of nervous excitement...not to mention, _so much_ arousal...”  
  
Stiles licks his lips and Peter’s control wavers. Another growl rumbles in his chest and he grabs the boys waist, pulls him in tighter, and smashes his lips against Stiles’ spit slick ones.  
  


* * * * *

  
Stiles thinks he’s been lucky up to this point, he doesn’t think Peter’s noticed him basically checking the older man out all evening. Really though, he’s asking for it, dressed in that shirt which brings out the colour of his eyes, not to mention the way it shows off his stupidly broad, muscular chest. The way his fingers have been caressing cutlery and his wine glass is ridiculously sexy, and when Peter plays with the stem of his glass, sliding it between thumb and forefinger and twisting a little on the downstroke, Stiles can’t help but wonder if that’s the kind of motion Peter makes when he jerks off. That thought has him moaning around his large mouthful of food and he hopes Peter thinks it’s caused by how much he’s _really_ enjoying his meal.  
  
Now, Stiles can’t breathe. He’s going to have a panic attack right in front of Peter Hale and then die, not from having his throat ripped out by a psychopathic zombie of a werewolf, but of embarrassment. Why did he say all those things? It’s true, of course, about Peter being able to do anything to him, the thought of which makes Stiles even harder than he’s been all night, within seconds; or that he’s good looking, which in hindsight was a stupid statement, _absolutely gorgeous_ would be a better choice of phrase.  
  
All of this goes through Stiles’ head as he’s being pulled into a standing position, Peter seeming to loom over him even though they’re practically the same height. The wolf’s presence and power is what makes him seem bigger, Stiles thinks. That and his superior muscle mass, which, whoa, Stiles can now feel the heat of against his own body.  
  
When Peter touches his lips Stiles’ knees feel like they’re going to buckle any minute. He registers the sensation of Peter’s skin and flesh on his lips which leads his mind to supply an image of himself on his knees in front of Peter while the older man slowly runs his cock over Stiles’ lips instead of his finger. Just when he thinks little Stiles can’t get any harder or throb more painfully, Peter _smells him_. He has no idea why that’s so hot, but he damn near comes in his pants right then. He gasps and licks his lips, willing words to form once he tries to speak, but then Peter’s kissing him.  
  
At first Stiles doesn’t - can’t - do anything but stand there frozen until Peter growls and pulls him closer. He soon gets with the program and starts kissing Peter back, clinging to his shoulders and pulling him closer. Stiles feels the heat of Peter’s tongue on his bottom lip and opens his mouth, his own tongue snakes out to meet the wolf’s talented one. They both moan as they devour each other’s mouths - there’s no point pretending this isn’t what he wants, Peter already knows when Stiles is lying, so why deny it? Twice in a matter of days Stiles is being kissed and it makes his head spin. It takes a few seconds to realise that lack of air is the cause this time, and he pulls back, their lips parting with a slick pop. He gulps down air, breathing heavily, and leans into Peter before he looks him in the face.  
  
It sends an extra thrill through Stiles’ slim frame when he sees the usually calm and collected Peter Hale is flushed, panting and looking at Stiles like he’s the next course in their dinner. Suddenly he doesn’t feel as awkward, not with Peter looking at him like that. This time, with a determination he doesn’t know he possesses, he spins them around and pushes Peter so that he’s sat in Stiles’ vacated chair, and straddles him. He searches Peter’s face for any trace of the nervousness that he himself feels, but sees none. The penny drops then, “You...did you? You planned this, didn’t you?”  
  
Peter runs his hands down Stiles’ back, making him shiver, “No, not really.”  
  
Stiles leans back a little but his hands find their way to Peter’s chest and he begins stroking and patting it as he speaks, “Not really? Then what _did_ you intend to get out of this?”  
  
Peter’s hands slide down to Stiles’ ass and squeeze gently, “I hoped...I _really_ hoped I hadn’t read you wrong and that this is what you want, but I hadn’t thought any further ahead than finding out for sure.”  
  
The teen isn’t sure he believes that, but he’s not going to complain. He dips back in and captures Peter’s lips, slipping a hand under that damn shirt and runs his fingertips over the man’s firm abs. He’s shocked when Peter grabs his wrists, forcefully..  
  
“Stop,” he says breathlessly, “stop, we need to slow down.”  
  
Stiles’ teenaged dick doesn’t like that one little bit, “Why?” he asks, confused.  
  
Peter sighs. He releases Stiles’ wrist and cups the teen’s face, “I don’t put out on a first date.”  
  
Stiles almost laughs, “What the fuck are you talking about? You made all of this happen and now you’re stopping it? Plus I didn’t even know this was a date! Not cool, man.” He’s somewhere between disappointed and annoyed, especially since he’s currently getting the worst case of blue balls known to man. He gasps again and grabs Peter’s shoulders when the wolf rolls his hips and presses his hard dick against Stiles’ ass.  
  
“Put it this way,” he says, voice low and dangerous, “if we don’t stop, I’m not sure I have the willpower not to hold you down on that couch right there and fuck the living daylights out of you.”  
  
The thought of that tips Stiles over the edge. With a groan and a single roll of his own hips, he comes hard, pumping wave after wave of hot liquid into his underwear. He hears Peter gasp and feels his strong arms hold Stiles upright and against his chest. Peter moans against the teen’s neck. When Stiles has regained use of his limbs, he stands, cheeks flaming red with embarrassment once again. Peter stands, too, stroking his face in a soothing motion and nuzzles Stiles’ temple.  
  
“Sorry,” Stiles says, mortified by his own lack of control. Yeah he was a teenager, but he thinks he should have had more stamina than that.  
  
Peter kisses his sweaty forehead, then his cheek before placing a firm kiss to his lips, “Don’t be, it’s fucking hot.”  
  
Stiles takes a step back, “Really?”  
  
“Really,” Peter chuckles, “but now I need you to go.”  
  
Stiles is a little hurt by that, “But…”  
  
“Trust me, you need to go,” Peter whispers, and when he looks back at Stiles, the teen feels his spent dick twitch when he sees the older man’s eyes are glowing, “the smell of you...fuck it’s driving me crazy.”  
  
“I could, you know” Stiles says, gesturing to the very obvious bulge in Peter’s jeans. He watches as Peter struggles to control his breathing.  
  
“As tempting as that offer is, I think it would be best to wait until we don’t have a whole pack of Alphas in town. Smelling me all over you will only give them an advantage, we can’t let them have any leverage over any of us.”  
  
Stiles feels his shoulders sag in disappointment, but Peter does have a point, “So I guess this means I don’t get dessert?” he says, his best mock pout on his swollen lips.  
  
Peter rolls his eyes but can’t hide the small smirk on his lips. He guides Stiles to the door, opens it and watches Stiles step outside. The look he gives Stiles is nothing short of predatory as his eyes roam over the slim frame, lingering on the sticky wet spot in the teen’s jeans. “Next time, you can _be_ dessert!” he winks.  
  


* * * * *

  
As Stiles turns into his street, he prays that Scott hasn’t hung around. He really doesn’t want to explain to his best friend why he smells like Peter and come; and what his ‘errand’ was because in his post orgasmic haze, he doesn’t think he can come up with a convincing lie. He breathes a sigh of relief when the driveway is empty.  
  
He climbs the stairs to his room, grimacing at the way at the now cold mess in his shorts makes him feel sloppy and sticky. He peels off his clothes, fishes his phone out of his pocket before he dumps his ruined outfit in the hamper.  
  
 _To: Peter  
Dinner was...very enjoyable! ;) _  
  
Seconds pass before the reply comes.  
  
 _From: Peter  
I’m glad you thought so. Wish I was there to help you shower. :( _  
  
_To: Peter  
I wish you were, too. :( _  
  
_From: Peter  
Soon, I promise. In the meantime, I don’t have to keep imagining what you look and sound like when you come. It’ll be even better when you’re coming on my cock. Tonight was just a taster._  
  
 _To: Peter  
It better be soon. It’s not fair that I didn’t get to see or hear you come. Has anyone ever told you you’re a bastard?_  
  
 _From: Peter  
Maybe I can put that right, isn’t that why camera phones were invented? ;) And yes, frequently. They’re wrong of course, I’m just misunderstood! :) _  
  
Stiles feels himself getting hard again at the thought that maybe Peter will send a video of himself, and he groans in frustration. As if he doesn’t have enough hormones floating around in his teenage body, Peter is going to be the death of him if he keeps coming out with suggestions like these.  
  
 _To: Peter  
Fucker. I hate you._  
  
 _From: Peter  
I thought we already established I know when you’re lying! ;) _  
  
_To: Peter  
Fuck you!_  
  
 _From: Peter  
No dear boy, the other way around! ;)  
  
I have to go and clean up the kitchen because *somebody* didn’t stick around to help!_  
  
 _To: Peter  
You shouldn’t have kicked me out then! :P_  
  
 _From: Peter  
If you continue with this backchat I may have to put you over my knee and give you a good spanking!_  
  
 _To: Peter  
Kinky fucker! I gotta go, now you put those ideas in my head I have some *spanking* of my own to do! ;) _  
  
_From: Peter  
*growls* You’re going to be the death of me!_  
  
 _To: Peter  
You started it!_  
  
Stiles smiles to himself at the casual exchange which is so of promise, then heads to the shower to wash off the evidence of tonight’s unexpected events. Afterwards he pulls on a fresh pair of boxers and climbs into bed. He connects his phone to the charger then notices there’s a message with an attachment.  
  
 _From: Peter  
Subject: Fair’s fair! ;)_  
  
His fingers tremble as he clicks the video attached, hoping it’s what Peter promised but doubting the wolf would follow through. The video starts and Stiles’ eyes are glued to the screen. By the time it’s finished playing, Stiles is sweaty, panting and cleaning come off his skin for the second time that night. He sleeps soundly, dreaming of a sexy older werewolf writhing on blue sheets, gasping Stiles’ name as he comes all over himself. It’s a very good dream!

  
* * * THE END * * *


End file.
